Alternation
by ILuvBoysInDresses
Summary: AU. Yukon Territory has always been a land full of snow, trees, and... magic? Or, so Francis Bonnefoy, hunter, trapper, trader, and French masterpiece, will find out. But, there is one thing you have to remember: magic isn't always perfect. Franada & USUK
1. Promise

A sharp clang echoed through the icy forest, followed by forlorn cries and the whisper of heavy breath.

"I'm sorry, mon ami," soothed a French accent as footsteps neared the metal trap, "but there's money to be made in the fur trade and polar coats are worth a fortune."

The caged animal whimpered, turning its pleading eyes toward the golden-haired man, causing him to tilt his head in confused amazement at the pale indigo tint.

"What have we here...?" he queried aloud. "Ah, with such an angelic trait, I may have even captured a spirit bear."

The purple orbs widened and the creature nodded briskly. Ocean blue locked with indigo, both clear and open.

"Did you just- ?" The Frenchman stared in disbelief for a moment. "N-non, it must just be the cold getting to me."

He might have trusted the attempted reassurance, were it not for the bear shaking its white muzzle in the negative. Though every bit of his mind was yelling that this was impossible and that he was probably completely mental, looking down at that expressive face was making it harder and harder to rationalize. He decided to give one last try.

"Alright," _Mon Dieu, I cannot believe I am actually doing this,_ "paw the ground three times if you can understand me, s'il vous plaît."

The animal bowed obligingly and padded at the snow thrice in steady succession. It glanced at the man, and almost jumped back at his suddenly ragged appearance.

"That's it, I've gone crazy!"

The one in the cage let out a lightly frustrated growl, then shook its head.

"Oh," the man huffed stand-offishly, "so I'm not crazy. I'm just taking advice from _a bear_!"

Round eyes fell dejectedly and the small polar bear's shoulders even drooped slightly. The blond internally scolded himself for causing such a pitiful scene.

"I– I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I was just being very…" _Damn you, Kirkland. _"ungentlemanly."

The other's gaze slowly drifted back up to meet a regretful yet determined stare.

"You do want to be free, do you not?"

He was answered by a skeptic glare and then an untrusting nod.

"I'm not going to lie to you. You're much too beautiful for me to kill."

This received a shy eye-averting from the cub.

"I will let you go," he swiftly raised a finger, "on one condition."

Having gotten over the previous flattery, the little beast gave a signal to continue.

He took a deep breath. "If you attack me, I will shoot you." A hand slid over the revolver at his hip.

There was a hard gulp, but the white head nodded its understanding.

Both pairs of eyes held each other with certainty. "Then our deal is settled."

Nimble fingers wrapped around the latch of the snare, but before it could be undone, an unnatural change in the air alerted both minds and the two were drawn to stare at the milky full moon. The bear began to panic at the mesmerizing spectacle. The Frenchman wasn't granted so much as a warning, before the animal reared and crashed against the bars, knocking him into a snow bank. He missed the way the gusting wind blew from the moon itself, catching flecks of winter's whiteness to reflect the brightening glow. The shimmer spiraled down and began to encircle the frantic polar bear, until he was fully encompassed. A very human scream split through the brilliant cocoon. The blond pulled himself from his involuntary snow angel just in time to see the spinning cold float to the ground, revealing a thin, shaking body, curled up in the bottom of the cage.

The man fell breathless as the smooth expanse of bare skin lifted itself into an elegant position. A young boy shuddered within the medal trap, steamy puffs of cold air breaking past his plump, pink lips, strawberry ringlets framed his cherubic face, and his eyes shone with striking indigo.

The boy opened his mouth but a soft roar took place of the word that he aimed for. He turned and gave a corrective cough into one hand.

"Hello," he murmured.

The older man blinked. "Bon-bonjour…"

"Forgive me if I've in any way frightened you. Are you alright?" His tone, though broken, was truly concerned.

"Are _you_?"

A charming giggle was emitted along with a blushing nod.

"Uhm, not to be rude, but," he forced away the rouge, "do you think you could let me out of this now."

"Of course!" the Frenchman shouted, shook from his stunned stupor. "I am so sorry, it's just y-"

"It's- it's alright," the pale form interrupted gently, "There's money to be made in the fur trade, I understand."

He cleared his throat. _Damn…_ The bars were finally unlatched and a hand was extended to the boy, but it remained untouched and skeptically scrutinized. "You can trust me."

"Do you promise?" The quake in his voice was unmistakable and those indigo depths held the pain of so many failed pledges.

"Oui. Yes, I will." The words were firm.

Hesitantly, a delicate hand entwined with the larger. "I'm trusting you. Don't ruin that."

"I promise…" His voice trailed off.

"Matthew," the younger finished as he was tugged out of his prison and into strong arms. "My name is Matthew Williams."

"Matthieu… C'est un beau nom. Je très l'aime." The Frenchman crooned.

"Merci beaucoup. Et vous?" Matthew purred as he hid his rapidly heating cheeks.

"Quoi?" The strawberry blond was pushed back into view, blush and all. "Vous parlez?"

"U-un petit peu." Matthew tossed his hair into his face hoping for coverage as he fought to will away the red. "Votre nom?"

"Ah, pardon. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy."

"Enchanté, Francis," the younger muttered, eyes loosing focus with the force he was using.

"Matthieu, quel dommage?" Francis worriedly asked the frail body as balance began to lessen. "Are you alright?"

"I'm f-fi-" Matthew breathed harshly, just before his eyes rolled back and he went limp in Francis's grasp.

"Ma-Matthew?" He gave the body a light shake and breathed a sigh of relief when that elicited a small groan.

Francis looked at him, really looked. His skin held the moon's light, causing him to have a sort of translucence. The small clouds of air forming from his breath drew attention to his full lips. Redness remained on his cheeks, and yet his face kept a basic serenity. Upon further examination, his thin torso was surprisingly built with lean muscles. And, below that…

"Oh, don't you dare!" he snapped at himself tugging back a straying hand. "Come on, Francis, you've been tempted by greater beauties… No you haven't! But, that's not what matters here. This boy is quite obviously sick… sick and gorgeous. Oh, merde!"

He took a deep breath and hoisted Matthew into a bridal hold. He would be as proper as he could. After all, he couldn't stand the thought of being one of the empty glints in those purple seas. He had a promise that he intended to keep.

* * *

Happy Christmas, everyone!


	2. Generosity

The young man's pale eyelashes flickered as he was bathed in the beams of sunlight that streamed in through the window. Despite the comforting warmth, he turned his head from the brightness in hopes of gaining more rest after such a rough evening. Then, the realization hit...

Hard.

Comforters flew back as a slightly disheveled Matthew Williams sprang up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar cabin. He breathed, heavy and sharp, trying to remember the events of the previous night. Searing pain erupted at the thought and he clutched at his strawberry locks as he tried to fight past it. His eyes welled up with tears from the force but he achieved some blurred memories. Torn flashes of snow-packed ground giving way beneath his tattered paws were muddled with the fear of being confined and the violent jostling of the Change, and- He hadn't been alone.

His slender fingers untangled themselves and fell gracefully into his lap to be thoughtlessly viewed by the empty indigo gaze.

_Where am I? Or... where is _he_?_

A low hum became apparent, drawing strained eyes to their right. There, in the dim glow of the dying fire, Matthew could barely make out a sleeping form lounging in a maroon chaise. He sighed in relief. This was good; he could still slip away as nothing more than a dream, or a dream... and a lost blouse. The fabric was high-quality silk and must have cost the Frenchman more than one pretty penny, but there it was, pressed to the bare skin of a stranger. It almost felt wrong leaving now, without giving any proper thanks. Francis had been kind even after Matthew had scared him nearly to death, but the boy knew better. He had to go.

His feet slipped silently from the bed and tapped ever so lightly against the wood flooring. The Frenchman didn't stir, even as Matthew drew closer to him, shuffling quietly forward to allow a whispered goodbye. Matthew's mouth opened to speak, but he did nothing but breathe for a few moments.

"Francis," he finally managed, "thank you for your care, though I did nothing to deserve it." He blamed his poor eyesight for the smile he was sure wasn't subconsciously gracing the other's lips. "Sleep well, ami."

And with that, Matthew Williams turned away from Francis Bonnefoy and walked across the room to the door to leave Francis's life and return to his own. Or so he thought, but his trusty eyes conveniently ignored the barrel in front of him, however his knees were not so lucky. With an earsplitting shriek of surprise and pain, the strawberry blond tumbled head-first into the object, startling the elder awake.

"Matthieu?" Francis shouted before he could even comprehend the situation. He rolled off the chaise with a heavy thud. Picking himself up, he charged over to Matthew and immediately wished he had been more generous.

Apparently, not even an over-sized shirt could hide the boy's delicate flesh. The stumble had thrown the hem toward Matthew's shoulders, leaving his pert rear up and exposed. The older male forced himself to look past his obvious plain of vision, and his obvious plan of action, to see the real problem.

What first occurred to him was that Matthew had somehow found a barrel and managed to lodge his upper body in it. Secondly, the impact had caused quite the scene and some reddening around the youth's right knee. And thirdly, his uncontrolled flailing was not helping any of the aforementioned predicaments, though greatly improving one for viewing pleasure.

Francis took a step back and gently slapped himself in the face. He had made a promise, so he would have to at least try to clear his head. However once he had, the main question was what a barrel was doing in the middle of his living room. But only after quizzically staring for a good five seconds at Matthew's fists pounding the wooden sides, did he finally remember why he had put it there.

"Matthieu!" He cried again, jumping forward and tugging the younger man from the previously ice-filled barrel.

Matthew tossed his head back onto Francis's shoulder, hair dripping wet and sticking to his face, gasping and spluttering and coughing up water. "P-Pardon my French, but, what the _Hell_ was… was that there for?"

Francis looked at him, stunned.

"Oh…, right, you _are_ French." Matthew felt himself blush at his ignorance as he turned his head away. "Heh, sorry."

Francis chuckled. "I'm afraid that in this case, it's quite alright, especially considering you speak it yourself. Now, as for your question…," Francis bent forward, careful not to upset the unstable Canadian, and fished a wine bottle out of the barrel, "it was ice last night."

"What?" The youth looked genuinely lost.

The other couldn't help but crack a small grin at the innocence. "You're not _too_ young for a small glass. It's still rather chilled if you'd be interested."

"I'm nineteen," Matthew replied off-handedly, "but, no thank you, I'm not _too_ interested."

Francis blinked owlishly before brushing his disbelief to the side. "Well, obviously not now. You should take a few minutes to get your bearings. Wait here and I'll get you a towel." He assured himself that Matthew could stand on his own and then trotted out of view.

This was no longer simple. It would be cold outside in a drenched shirt but Matthew didn't have the time to have a choice. So for the second time that morning, he made his way to the door. And for the second time that morning, his knee betrayed him. He was two steps from the door when his leg registered the damage and gave out, and he crashed to the floor.

Francis raced back into the room. "Is this just a thing with you?" He yelled, dropping the towel on the boy as he knelt by his side, absent-mindedly fixing the hem that had, once again, been tossed up.

"Yes!" Matthew snapped, separating his face from the hard wood. "Yes, this is just a thing with me! And, this is the same reason why I need to get out of here! So if you'll excuse me, –"

"Excuse me," the Frenchman interrupted, "but, you will be going nowhere in your condition!"

Ignoring the command, the younger grasped the door handle and hoisted himself up. "Look," he countered, "I hate feeling so rude; you've been very kind to me, and for that I thank you. But, I really _must_ be going."

Francis stood up with a sigh. Thinking it was a gesture of defeat, Matthew focused on unlocking his exit. But when a strong hand slammed against the panel next to his head, he glanced over his shoulder in wide-eyed shock. Francis's face was dead-pan serious. Matthew gulped as he his eyes darted from the hand to the face, the hand to the face. "You are injured," Francis hissed lowly.

Determination overtook Matthew's delicate features and he wheeled around. "Don't misunderstand me; thank you for your hospitality, but I have to go home! Please just forget you ever saw me! Here!" He leant against the door as his thin fingers swiftly unbuttoned the blouse, "Have your shirt back! I don't need i-!" _…Oops..._ His face shot bright red and he clasped his hands over the fabric. "N-Never mind, I… I do kind of need it for right now."

Francis cleared his throat, pulling his hand back. "Mon petit, if you truly have to go, I will obey your every whim. But, that is only if you let me do something for that knee of yours." He smirked at Matthew's flustered face as he realized he was bleeding rather profusely. "However, if you try to leave before that is properly healed, then, by _Dieu_, Mr. Williams, I will make you regret your disobedience. Wait here, really this time." And with that, he left the room.

Upon returning a few minutes later, he was relieved to find Matthew had not left. However, he had slid down the door and was sitting dejectedly at its base, towel around his neck and ringlets hiding his face. Francis settled in front of him, placing a first aid kit on the floor and pulling out an antiseptic and a cloth bandage. The air was calm and silent as Francis cleaned and wrapped the wound.

"There," he announced when he'd tied off the last of the cloth.

"How long will I have to stay?" the younger male muttered, lifting his head.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks, so…," the elder paused as he thought, "maybe five days, at most."

His eye fell. "Oh, um, okay, as long as you wouldn't mind."

Francis smiled reassuringly. "It's my pleasure."

"Y-You-," Matthew stuttered, avoiding eye-contact, "You don't have to lie. If I'm overstaying my welcome, then ple-"

"Matthieu," the golden blond caught his chin and tilted it up, "I thought we already covered that I don't lie to the beautiful. Besides, you haven't had any wine yet." He straightened himself up and extended a hand to the other, and this time it was accepted immediately with an honest smile.

"Just one, if you wouldn't mind. I am _too_ young, after all" Matthew giggled as he was lead to the kitchen.

_Not for everything, but,_ Francis thought ruefully,_ as of right now, you are untouchable._

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but Happy (slightly-belated) Canada Day!

I'm aiming to have the next update be for France Day

And I should update 'Damn Those English Roses' for America Day

So hope you enjoyed it, sorry again, and please look forward to my updates


	3. Anything

Francis's kitchen was rather small, but not at all underdone, with richly-toned wood furnishings trimmed in roses and cream-coloured accents. Matthew, however, was unintentionally admiring the table cloth as it was that he couldn't quite lift his head off of it. At the sound of poorly stifled laughter, he settled for shifting his eyes in its direction.

"'Just one,' hm?" Francis joked, not even trying to hold back his smile as he sloshed the nearly empty wine bottle.

The younger began to pout at the accusation. "Well, you had your share, too."

"Mon cher," the Frenchman cooed sympathetically, "I'm only mid-way through my second glass. Do you even remember how many you've had?"

"Of course, I do. This glass is my fifth," Matthew muttered as he reached toward the half-emptied goblet, hand missing the stem just enough to bump the delicate object and nearly knock it over.

Francis's hand shot up and grabbed it before a single drop could spill. "Maybe you should stop after this one," he attempted.

The Canadian just scoffed at him. "Francis, I'm not drunk."

"And I would never be rude enough to say that to you," the elder soothed, leaning in toward his companion, "even though it _may_ be true."

"Seriously," the strawberry blond lifted his head as best as he could, "I'm not drunk. I'm just tired and blind."

Francis straightened, wide-eyed and stunned. "Blind?"

"Yep," Matthew replied shortly, letting his forehead reconnect with the table.

"Well…," the golden blond mumbled, "I suppose that would explain your earlier behaviour."

"Yep," the youth repeated.

"Could you stop saying that?" the Frenchman requested offhandedly.

"Yep," Matthew answered blandly and tilted his face back toward Francis with a smirk.

For a moment the room was tightly silent, then the older man spoke. "Consider yourself lucky you can't see my expression."

"Oh, trust me, I do," the Canadian returned in a sickeningly sweet falsetto. "But, sadly, I can still hear it in your voice. So, yeah, why not, eh? Let's all be mean to the blind kid."

Francis audibly winced. He had been acting quite out of sorts since he had found this boy, and he blamed his shock for that. However, he knew that didn't truly excuse his rudeness. After a moment of mental berating, he opened his mouth to apologise but was cut off by a sudden mirthless chuckle.

Matthew was now staring straight at Francis, and he was right; his eyes were unfocused, but they lacked the expected alcoholic glaze. "Don't you dare say sorry," the boy intoned with a shake of his head. "I owe you my apologies. I guess two years without human contact made me a bit of a cynic."

"How am I not supposed to apologise now that you tell me you haven't spoken with anyone in two yea–?" Then the synapses clicked. "Wait, two years? What have you been doing for _two years_?"

Strawberry locks fell in front of indigo eyes, breaking the gaze as Matthew sighed, "What you saw last night."

Francis paused, unsure of how exactly to approach the subject. "I wasn't going to bombard you with questions about that, but... you were quite obviously a _polar bear_, correct?"

A quirky grin perked up on the youth's lips. "Do you still think you're crazy?" he asked coyly.

"I'd very much like to think I'm sane," the Frenchman responded without missing a beat. Not that he could say the same for his heart, which jumped at the resounding laughter that answered.

"Well then, I guess there's no getting out this, eh?" Matthew took a deep breath, but the corners of his lips still pulled softly upward. "There's no need to feel imposing. Please, ask me. It would probably be best to talk and get some of this off my chest anyway."

"Ah, your chest… a lovely subject to start with." Francis sucked in a sharp breath after he spoke, unitentionally inhaling a sip of his wine. That had come out wrong, mainly because that was not supposed to come out at all.

Matthew stilled in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Francis coughed harshly, attempting to buy himself some time, but Matthew just continued to stare at him in guarded silence. "Um," he cleared his throat. "What I had meant was that, uh... y-your anatomy seems human, so what makes you transform like you do?" He wasn't quite sure that lie would soothe the boy enough to salvage the situation.

Matthew exhaled a string of breathy laughter, and Francis felt himself exhale as well as Matthew began to speak. "Oh, that's what you meant. Well, it's quite simple really. It's a curse – a punishment – nothing more."

"What, if you truly _don't_ mind my asking, did you do to receive such a punishment?" Francis inquired cautiously.

The boy waved a dismissive hand. "I don't mind, but I'll warn that you might not believe the answer, since we've already decided you _aren't _crazy." Franis cocked up an eyebrow, and Matthew continued, "Living out here, I'm sure you've heard the myths and legends of the great spirits that take up residence in the woods. Well, I-"

"You were cursed by a forest spirit?" the older interrupted incredulously.

"Forgive me, but could you think of a better explanation for becoming a bear?" Francis whispered a quick apology. "Now, please let me finish before you get all ahead of yourself thinking you understand everything. So, where was I...? Ah, yes – the spirit that controls the moon and falling snow, the great Kumajirou, is described as revealing himself in the form of a giant bear made of swirling snowflakes, and like all bears, he does not appreciate being bothered while he's relaxing. Here's where your little interruption comes into play. I woke a sleeping bear and payed the price, clean and simple – do you still think you're sane?"

"Though it's a stretch, I do believe you, Matthieu," Francis said, almost unsurely. "But, I suppose my sanity is still stuck on the 'two years.' In most of the legends, the spirits that cursed humans had other motives – like teaching life lessons – that were masked as punishment. Not only that, but the curses generally didn't last much beyond a year. So, what makes you so different?"

Matthew suddenly dropped his head, and his voice fell to scarcely above a whisper. "I don't know what lesson I could even learn like this."

"Matthieu," Francis murmured, but the boy tightened in on himself at the sound; he was obviously leaving something out of his explanation, but Francis understood it was best not to pry. "I'll just clear the table off then, if we're done for now."

Matthew didn't protest as Francis removed the wine glasses and bottle from the table and placed them on a nearby countertop before returning to his seat. They sat in silence again while Francis racked his brain for something to calm shaking mass across from him. The last thing he wanted was to say – or worse, do – anything to make the boy hate him.

"You're a beautiful young man, mon Matthieu," he ventured, rewarded with a quick glance and a modest blush as Matthew's posture improved slightly. "Anyone in town would be more than happy to help you with any lesson you could want to learn."

"Oh." The blush faded from Matthew's cheeks. "There's one last thing I failed to mention about that... Um, no one can see me when I'm not a bear."

Francis reached across the table and set a friendly hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I see you."

"Because you saw me change. That's also why you're the first human I've spoken with in these two years." Matthew smiled sadly as he tried to hide the way his chin had begun trembling. "Everybody else that saw me as a bear either ran away or chased me off."

"But I called you beautiful," Francis's hand moved to chuck Matthew under his chin, "and I hate it when beautiful things are forced to suffer. I want to help you, to make the pain go away, at least for as long as I can. So, how about this: while you're healing, I'll do whatever you ask, anything you need, anything at all, oui?"

Matthew's eyes widened, their bright indigo flooding with unshed tears. "Oh, no, Francis, I-I couldn't-"

"I insist."

Francis held Matthew's gaze, sure and unblinking. Then, Matthew burst into tears, his pale hands flying up to his eyes as his shoulders shuddered with uncontrolable sobbing. Francis moved over to him and held him warmly as he cried. The young man rambled off apologies and words of gratitude riddled with hiccups. Francis just stroked his hair comfortingly, whispering reassurances and "hush" to him.

This was going to be a lot harder than Francis had originally estimated.

One the one hand, there was an emotionally unstable, half-naked boy clinging to him. On the other, there was a beautiful youth, suffering and in need of his help. He wasn't quite sure which he found more attractive. All he knew for certain was that he needed time to breathe and not focus on the temptation that was Matthew.

His eyes darted around the room for a distraction or something that could strike up an un-arousing conversation. He looked to the window to see that the sun was setting. Mentally running through a possible scenario, he decided that would do for the moment.

"Matthieu," Francis shook the boy gently, "I don't mean to upset you, but the moon will be out soon. Do you want to make yourself ready to change?"

"Eh?" Matthew paused, and then giggled, "Oh, no, I won't change tonight."

"Pourquoi pas?" Francis caught himself off-gaurd with the French phrasing. In his mind, the scene played out with Matthew going into the living room and changing into something to which Francis could reasonable say he wasn't physically attractted. With that idea destroyed, his mind was somewhere else entirely, and his English had escaped him.

Luckily, the Canadian understood the question and ceased crying to answer. "The Change is on a lunar schedule," he explained, brushing tears from his face, "so I don't change back for another two weeks, on the new moon."

"I see," Francis smiled slyly. "You become your full self on the full moon and something new on the new moon. Heh... clever spirit."

Matthew beamed up at Francis. "He is actually quite a nice guy; if it weren't his riddles, that is."

"What?" Francis blinked.

"Yeah, he speaks in verse and stuff," Matthew said flippantly. "It gets really confusi-"

"Non," the older man broke in before the boy could trail off any further, "I-I mean... you've _met_ him?"

"Yep," Matthew stated, the term raking much less on Francis's ears when it was said happily, "Kimajouru comes to check up on me every so often."

"Kumajirou?" Francis offered in correction.

Matthew blushed. "Yeah, of course, but... he gets my name wrong a lot of the time, too."

Francis let out a small bout of stunned laughter. After a couple seconds, Matthew joined in, but his joviality was quickly stifled by a yawn.

The humour immediately disappeared from Francis's voice. "Oh, I'm sorry, Matthieu. I'd forgotten how exhausted you must be. I did not intend to keep you up talking."

"It's fine," Matthew grinned dopily, slipping into a daze. "It was nice..."

A fond sigh slid through Francis's smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." He reached down and scooped Matthew up from his chair.

"Huh? Oh, thanks," the boy mumbled as he felt his body settle against the bed he'd woken up in that morning. "I didn't really wanna walk; my knee kinda hurts."

"Yes, I know," Francis responded lightly as he pulled the blankets up over the delicate figure. "I'm terribly sorry about that."

"No, no," Matthew slurred, sloppily grabbing one of Francis's hand as he smoothed out the covers over Matthew's chest, "you've been much too kind to be apologising. I'm asking too much of you as is. But... if it wouldn't be too much more trouble, tomorrow, could we go get my glasses, so that next time I thank you, I can actually see you, please?"

Francis had never felt so ashamed of his darker thoughts as he did in that moment, in the face of such a pure creature. He squeezed Matthew's hand as he promised, "Anything you need."

"K, thanks." Matthew pulled his hand out of Francis's and tucked it under the comforters with the other as he rolled onto his side and huddled down into the warmth. "G'night, Francis."

"Bon nuit, mon petit."

Francis stepped to the window and stared almost challengingly at the faintly waning moon. But the moon wouldn't blink, so Francis took a deep breath and made his way to the chaise to cure his own craving for sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this took me so terribly long. The school year was busy and summer's been busy, but I've got a good feeling about my fics in the near future. Keep your eyes peeled for them, because they will be there, sometime.**

**Anywho, I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!**

**~Dani**


End file.
